Best Roiling Poems
This Medusa had no power to turn us into stone
but when she ran aground over Poseidon's throne
his anger stirred, and into the sea the crew was flung.
On a raft urgently built of salvaged timbers we clung.
A hundred and more escaped before the frigate sunk
and after four days adrift, our number had shrunk.
With naught but salted sea to sate our massive thirst
I vowed not to give in. I swore I'd not be the first
to yield to temptation and drink myself to death
though feverish from the intensity of the sun's breath.
On the eighth day, hunger turned men into savages,
feasting on flesh in a moment of rapacious ravages.
Bloated bodies bobbled like apples off Africa's coast.
I contemplated my fate to become what I dreaded most-
being tossed off the raft, into a shark's clamping jaws.
To survive, no one had agreed to abide by man's laws.
I'll not forget the look of fear in the eyes of others,
sailors who once proudly called themselves 'brothers.'
Each of us clutched and clawed for an inch of the raft.
The feeble ones cackled as though they'd gone daft.
Arms and legs entangled among the living and dead,
as an alabaster corpse pillowed a sun-blistered head.
The demented swam away, flailing arms in roiling waves
until they perished in the depths of their turbid graves.
Alas the day, two weeks in, a ship sighted on the horizon.
Fifteen survivors with charred skin, lean and wizened
rescued from death's grip in a morbid human experience.
Men who'd given up on hoping for a timely deliverance,
their bodies emaciated, and their clothing, threadbare,
destined to relive the catastrophe in gruesome nightmare.
August 4th 2022
2022 Marathon mile 11 Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
NOTE: In June 1816, the French frigate Medusa, ran aground off the coast of Senegal. Because of a shortage of lifeboats, some 150 survivors embarked on a raft and were decimated by starvation during a 13-day ordeal, which descended into murder and cannibalism. Only a handful remained when they were rescued at sea.
Free me from servitude of constraining boundaries
Guiding life’s journey, questing meadows pristine,
Beyond void of nothingness, afar hills of misery,
Rescuing from oblivion, from doorways of abyss,
From pathos of mortality, from realm so ordinary,
Take me, sweet fairy, beyond world of drudgery.
Thrusting spirit of vitality, show me where to exit,
For verdant prairies burbling streams of serenity
Buoying ambrosial instincts of ethereal themes,
Seeking supernatural intrigue of esoteric dreams
Vying ecstatic feelings blossoming dawns of bliss;
Take me, sweet fairy, to the frontiers of tranquility.
Navigate me away from emptiness roiling destiny,
Away from the distraught flaunting pride egoistic,
Away from ambitions yearning things materialistic
On the wings of enlightenment leading to harmony,
Transporting to transcendence~ heavenly, idyllic;
Take me, sweet fairy, to peacefulness of sanctity.
Lift me above darkness of life’s tenebrous clouds,
Enlighten visage of impercipient, ignorant shrouds,
Attaining equilibrium within purpose and meaning
Discarding grievances that steal virtuous equities;
Take me to nirvana ~ to paradise of utopian peace,
Take me, sweet fairy, to domain of blissful ecstasy.
September 15, 2022
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 32 – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Take Me to Nirvana
Written: November 24, 2023
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Seraphic sand is sapped on the seashore
As swirling waters swallowed the load roar.
The roiling river rapidly ground to an oar
Shore seaweed—pure praise to restore.
A skylark beat the cords, its wings galore
Brilliant sky; rapt gasp wails fading before.
Moon sashayed stars as it whiffed implore
Tides will come and flee—still nevermore.
Upon heavens, a moon casts a silvery hoar
On the whiffed coo, as the seas' soft afore.
Whispered tunefully while purling in abhor
I walked around tiptoes, humming a chord.
Until the sun rose with a blazing core
used their citrin cord to snag the spore.
Lord, place Thy Hand on the yoke of those who fly,
And guide them through the vast reaches of the sky.
Bring them safely through their perilous flight,
And may they ever look to Thee as their Guiding Light.
Lord, protect the sailors who sail the treacherous seas.
Calm the roiling waters that they may cruise with ease.
May they always look to Thee as their Pilot for support,
And with Thy guiding hand, bring them safely home to port.
Lord, protect the soldier with Thy mighty sword midst the battle.
Give him strength to press on despite the muskets' rattle.
Hear his fervent supplication for Thy protection from all harm,
And provide him with courage as he leans on Thy eternal arm.
Lord, shield the brave marine as he storms the dangerous strand.
Strengthen him with fortitude and provide Thy protective hand.
Surround him with Thy angels as he strives to overcome the foe.
Bring him safely through the conflict and upon him honor bestow.
Lord, bless and provide comfort to his family, for they also serve.
Until that day they are one again, give them hope and steady nerve.
Hear their prayers O' Lord, for the safe return of heroes dear,
And from their trust, hope and faith in Thee, may they never veer.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Cobwebs of thoughts dangle in forlorn corner
Spun by emotions that surrendered long ago
Still hanging out, anguished, in grip of throes
Engrossed in silence while gazing night skies
Admiring how they once painted astral designs
Brush stroking delight by sheer hint of eyes
Until the silken threads of lives ripped apart,
Each filament eagerly tearing webs of hearts.
Regrets of passion buzzed roiling wistful lives
When placid frontiers encountered stormy tides
Sailing smooth surfs that callously turned wild
On oceans unfamiliar to the benevolent minds
Beckoned by allure of prairies shamrock green
Thinking out there grew a garden of paradise~~
Abundance of blossoms their lives couldn’t have,
Squandering foolishly bond of love they had.
Yet, the darkened nights they traversed all alone
Heard repertoire of enchanting mirthful tone
Wooing love, having crossed thousands of miles,
Reminding them~ you don’t just abandon life,
Trilling tunes of affection in imploring oratory
Teaching humans secrets of romantic allegory
When the dawning on horizon gleams lapis lazuli
And a doting nightingale sings of dawn’s glory.
Promise of hopeful day glimmered their insights
Spurring their spirits to revisit places of delight,
Those they painted once by sheer hint of eyes,
Reassembling the filaments torn apart by time
Proceeding soon mindfully to rebuild their nest
Excited once again to hear chirps of hatchlings
When the dawning on horizon gleams lapis lazuli
And a doting nightingale sings of dawn’s glory.
June 7, 2021
Placed 1st: This or that, vol 3 poetry contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: A nightingale sings of dawn’s glory
AUTUMN AT THE HEART
She’s a world has gotten drowsy
Evolving face of autumn
Like gold then scarlet amber
Like blood from beetle vein
At heart her core lacks action still
She has this sort of stadium swell
A far and muffled roar on susurrate air
Which brings her round again
Her essence lay at kindred depth
At oneness with the fertile Earth
Where roiling life all seasons sways
She bows to nature’s royal domain
Dave Austin
ORIGINS
Winter’s shroud
Urges meditation
Adornment so scant only
Heaven’s light to cheer the lonely
In springtime though
Peeping buds awaken
Tiny origins thrust
Ease one’s contemplation
Tulips germinate
Sans nature’s later flow
And mind’s eye gravitates
To roiling roots below
Spring’s full blown riot
Must pose eyeful question
But a moment chime perhaps
Soul’s true direction
Is such splendid array
A vein traveling invitation
To some hidden house
Of God’s creation?
Alas belittling mortal speculation
Winter’s origin winter’s shroud –
She sleeps sleeps as needed
By all of nature’s crowd
Dave Austin
My heart yearns not for the mountain-way
With its green of grass and tree;
My heart calls out for the ocean spray
And the sound of the surf-roiling free!
Give me a land with its feet in the sea,
Its low-swelling shoulders nearby;
The voice of the waves is like music to me
And the cry of the gulls is my cry.
Cast me not out on your hot desert sand
Where the salt-tanging airs never rest.
Give me space on an ocean-washed strand
With a flicker of foam on its breast.
When the storm clouds build to a thundering groan
And the wind whips the trees on the shore,
With a rip and a roll and a deep wailing moan
The swell charges in with a roar.
Still, even then, with the needle-sharp spray
Dancing its pain 'cross my face
My soul ventures out and is swept far away
On the crest of a fast ocean race.
Thrilled to the core by the need to be free,
Not bound by this weak mortal form,
It pitches and dives and races the sea
And rides on the wings of the storm.
Lighter than down and stronger than steel
With a knowledge as old as the sea,
That this is the way my soul shall feel,
Perched on the brink of eternity!
Entry for Chantelle Anne Cooke's "Devotion To Ocean" Contest
Won 2nd Place in the contest
In tender light of pink sunrise
under a sheer, swiveling sky,
you rescued me on jagged rocks,
then from the haze, shined you and I.
This joyous place upon a strait
over the gently roiling sands,
is where our love rose on the winds
surrounded by salt-kissed wetlands.
Clear, cyan seas flowed tranquilly,
and in love's trance, I fell for you.
What started as my heart’s secret,
I shared with seagulls as they flew.
Waves surged and sprayed across the shore,
mist glistened and blew off the dune.
Then kindest eyes found love in mine
as tides swelled in glow of full moon.
Today, I count my days as blessed.
I am assured by faithfulness.
I’m lifted to your waiting shores
as glistening waves flow effortless.
~ This poem is written in the 8686 syllable count style of one of my favorite Emily Dickenson poems, 'I Felt a Funeral in My Brain.'
'pon roiling sea a fierce storm brewed
waves crashed within my veins
fueled by heady winds, they pursued
to drown my life with rains
With tympani beat, thunder roared
bold lightning flicked and flashed
we pulled, we pulled, oh how we oared
with nature's ire we clashed
Then came a clamor from astern
our ship had split in two
in my veins, swells still pound and churn
until the moon breaks through
Calmed now, the vile tempest from Hell
sky riveted with stars
Man holds no power to dispel
nature's wrath when she spars
~ For Chris
I trudged to levy height, stood upon the soggy ground
with serious intentions that an answer would be found
To the river's rapidly flowing current, I confided my woes
of troubling things that had me in the doldrums of lows
Haunting problems, compelling me to leave and move on
Leading me to this river as if I were crossing the Rubicon
It's not my nature to feel caught between stay or take flight
but in desperation I stood, entreating the river of my plight
Willows on the bank, limbs swaying in the wind, listening—
weeping for my addled mind? In moonlight, tears glistening?
Do they whisper to the river what they'd suggest to me?
If I cross the bridge, then burned behind me it shall always be
My fate lies not on the telling of tree leaves or a river's flow
Two options I discern— should I cross the Rubicon and go?
Should I submit my heart and soul to the dreams of another
and live with wondering, "What if..." Only to die smothered?
It's the moment of truth — a decision too long have I delayed
Perhaps into the roiling river current, my steps should wade
By doing so, I'd avoid making the wrong choice of tribulations
having no need for explanations for my grievous lamentations
They were a carpenter's hands, calloused, yet so soothing,
Freely offered to those whose burdens needed smoothing.
He forsook the carpentry trade, His Father's will to keep,
And clasped a shepherd's crook to tend His precious sheep.
His hands blessed the children when others turned them aside.
His hands calmed the stormy seas causing them to subside.
His hands touched Peter's mother-in-law, her fever disappeared.
At Cana His hands blessed the water, miraculously wine appeared!
His gentle hands healed the lame and they were made to walk.
His tender hands caused the deaf to hear and the mute to talk.
His folded hands blessed some fish and several loaves of bread,
To multiply this simple fare for the thousands to be fed!
His hands reached down to rescue Peter from the roiling sea.
Healing hands caressed their eyes. Behold! The blind could see!
His hands touched outcast lepers, their diseases He erased.
His hands upset thieves' tables when His temple was debased.
Alas, His loving, compassionate hands were nailed to a tree.
There He suffered and died for wayward sinners such as we.
He yet offers steadfast hands to guide us o'er perilous strands.
His invitation is everlasting - we need only to grasp His hands.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
When darkness falls and finds us all alone,
When the heart becomes a small grey stone ...
Bravery is all there is.
When thunder shakes the windowpanes,
When those we love lie wracked with pain ...
Bravery is all there is.
Bravery concedes its fear;
Does not attempt to hide its tears.
Bravery is born of holding calm,
In quietly, doggedly, carrying on.
When reason fails to light the dark,
When the answer is a question mark ...
Bravery is all there is.
When justice seeks to rule in vain,
When sorrow sweeps the roiling brain ...
Bravery is all there is.
Bravery trembles while it stands,
Accepts what it cannot command.
Bravery bears its burdens well,
Looks not to see if others tell.
Be brave then, Mystery asks of us;
Face the unknown with silent trust -
For at the End, there is only this:
Bravery is all there is.
Bravery is all there is.
As I entered the garden the scents enticed
rampant rose blossom the arches fenced.
Cascading aromatic blossoms greeting me
amidst the climbers were the sweet pea.
In the centre stood the patio so glamorous
sparkling bubbles of champagne so amorous.
Tickling the throat buds saturated with scent
from the tumbling blossoms as they descent.
Blood stream and breath full of roiling bubbles
and past swish the gentry parading in couples.
Raise your glasses in a toast as friends are wed
laughing, knowing they will all too soon be in bed.
Ah what a perfect day in this romantic garden
bubbles and blossoms tumbling as skies darken
Blossoms and bubbles never somniferous
mixed together they are becoming toxiferous.
written 03/25/2015
contest Blossom and Bubbles
The Ballad of H2O (International Version)
He reached his boiling point at one hundred degrees.
When he dropped to zero, he would freeze.
Everything he did, he did just like he oughter,
(in Centigrade) - that's water!
The Ballad of H2O (US Version)
Arriving at two-twelve Fahrenheit,
his roiling bubbles gave steaming flight,
but descending South to thirty-two,
he froze in his tracks. What could he do?